What happens on this island stays on this island
by turquoisetribble
Summary: What happens when the crew members of the Enterprise finds themselves stranded on a certain "deserted isle," along with Obama, Romney, and a few friends. They'll be forced to endure the hijinks that come along with being stranded on a island with this motley crew, that's for sure. But, like in Vegas, what happens there should certainly stay there!
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: I revised chapter 1 (spelling mistakes, a few personality errors, etc.). I hope it's a bit better than the original.** **Reviews are greatly appreciated, and I'll listen to suggestions and criticism and try to fix any errors I've made.**

_1. In this story, neither Obama nor Romney has actually been elected_

_2. I also poke fun of both (and own neither...wait, that's just creepy). Please don't read this if you and your political beliefs are easily offended. I respect both people._

_3. I also don't own Star Trek._

_4. The rating is T, due to language, extremely immature (and bad) jokes, references to alcohol, an overload of sarcasm, and even more immaturity._

_5. Not slashy, as of now._

_6. Chapter 1 isn't funny. The rest are (well, at least to me)._

Barack Obama awoke suddenly, glancing around, trying to figure out his bearings. He looked at his watch- how long had he been out? Reaching for the buzzer on his seat, he rung for

Lawrence, his personal assistant and, for the mean time, confidant. Seeming to appear out of thin air, Lawrence was at the side of the president almost instantly.

"You called, Mr. President?" Despite Lawrence's usually calm demeanor, there was something with his expression- the smile was too tight and his eyes darted from side to side.

"Yes," the president tried to keep a cool tone, "I would like to know the whereabouts of this craft? How long until we land in Tokyo?"

As expected, Lawrence nervously checked his watch, "Sir, approximately 2 hours, 6 minutes and -"

"Sorry, Mr. Lawrence, but I was wondering where exactly we are- California, Hawaii, ocean.."

At this Lawrence looked down, avoiding the president's eyes. This was odd- by now he should've radioed up to the front. After all, it was the president asking.

"Above, erm, San Fransisco."

With or without his Harvard education, the president knew Lawrence was lying.

Checking to see if no one was looking, the president, with a dart of his hand, grabbed Lawrence's wrist, twisting it while bringing Lawrence's face uncomfortably close to his own.

"Mr. Lawrence, I asked our bearings, if I were you , I would give them to me EXACTLY."

Lawrence's eyes fell onto the floor, "Sir, I'm sorry, but I cannot tell-"

The president twisted Lawrence's arm harder, and Lawrence attempted a small squeal. He had forgotten that the president had taken martial arts for a consecutive 7 years as a child and teenager.

He felt the president's hot breath against his cheek. "What's going on- tell me or..." Lawrence felt the extreme tension on his upper arm give way and, hearing the sharp snap of cartilage, knew that the president could do much worse (not that the public knew this, of course. He preferred to come off as more of a "family man.")

Lawrence knew that this kind of physical fight was rare for the president- almost unheard of. He must've figured it out. Lawrence wished he could just surrender- stop the pain.

But he had a loyalty to the others, and said nothing.

The president smiled, as he began to twist back Lawrence's right index finger but, to Lawrence's relief, stopped suddenly.

Unbeknownst to Lawrence, his eyes had rested on one of celling compartments- normally used to store blankets and food. With a swift motion of his hands, the president hoisted the injured Lawrence up, holding him by the scruff of his neck.

"What's in this compartment?"

Lawrence starred straight- they were screwed by now, but they had all prepared to give their lives to the mission.

Lawrence felt his legs go out from under him as he was hoisted into the air by the scruff of his neck.

"Open it."

Lawrence flatly refused, shutting his eyes. The president reached out one hand to knock him unconscious as a last resort- surely the aircraft was filled with others in on the scheme- but at the last moment, saw Lawrence's face break into a great grin. It was a trap- they'd anticipated that he would knock him out. When he was desperate, the usually calm president often did rash things. But it was too late- with a wince, he already felt Lawrence's jaw give way to his fist.

Jumping up, he grabbed the remote to lock the doors to his cabin. It would buy him a few minutes at most.

He then went to work on the compartment. Opening it up, he could see that it was some sort of weapon, perhaps meant to detonate the entire aircraft. Using his prior knowledge of weaponry, he anticipated he had approximately 4-7 minutes to disable the device.

While setting to work, he thought of who was the head of this scheme. Traveling to Japan in a mission to bargain for a loan (of course, to the public, it was only a press conference and friendly visit) were himself, his vice president, secretary of the treasury, and the secretary of defense (luckily, he was flying in another plane- his own nuclear proof craft). One of the planes had been forced to stop in California. He had no idea where the other was. Chances were, both men were already gone.

If he and his vice president were gone, that would leave the Speaker of the House in Command- he had been traveling today, and his driver had reported that they were being forced to turn around- something about a threat or obstacle or something. The president momentarily shut his eyes- he hadn't thought much of it, but his Speaker was probably dead by now. That left his Secretary of State.

He smacked his head, stopping to wipe the sweat forming on his brow. She had always had it in for him- he had chosen her not for her diplomatic skills, but as an ally, or at least not as an enemy. But with the upcoming election and him not being in favor at the time, she could be a last minute choice, get elected and win.

There was a knock, and then the compartment walls came apart, a group of secret service men coming in. By the stern looks on their faces, they were in on the mission as well.

The president took one last look at the weapon- 1 minute. He closed his eyes, he was a goner now. He hadn't said enough goodbyes- not to Michelle, his kids, even his dog, Bo. If only he had more time...

There was a sudden jolt of the aircraft, and both president and men fell, sliding across the floor. _It must be the weapon going off_, thought the president.

But the faces of the men showed pure fear and confusion.

It was as if the death mission had been abandoned for that second.

The president felt the blood running out of the wound on his head, and began to see stars. He heard the words _unknown disturbance detected_, and heard headsets connect and disconnect.

He needed a way out- perhaps a parachute. The president always had an escape plan.

He pushed his way through the mass confusion, wrenching his arms away when people tried to stop him.

He checked his watch- 15 seconds.

He was almost in the release bay when there was another jolt, violently throwing him against the wall. But it wasn't the wall he hit.

Autumn Sermons let out a yell as she and the president collided.

He grabbed her- "Sermons, I'll kill you for this. I don't care if I die too, the instigator of this and his accomplices will be punished. You didn't even think about my wife and-"

"No, Mr. Obama."

Autumn shook her head violently, digging her red nails into his skin. Of course he suspected her- after all, she was in one of the top circles at the CIA.

But she'd known nothing, along with the secretary of defense.

The only thing she knew was their imminent death, and the confusion surrounding it.

She shoved the weakened president off her, and, hobbling along, the both of them managed to make it into the cargo chamber. He made a grab for the remote, but there wasn't a need.

There was a roaring as the whole craft exploded, the pieces scattered across the sky.

The blue sky was all they saw as they plummeted towards Earth, a lone parachute holding the two of them.

Captain Kirk slowly opened his eyes, glancing around the ruined bridge of the _Enterprise. _Not exactly ruined, but a mess to say the least.

He rubbed his eyes. He remembered something like a storm or a portal, and massive jolt, but couldn't seem to figure it out.

The best he could figure was that they were caught in some sort of forcefield, just stuck here.

He shakily stood up, glancing about the bridge.

Lieutenant Nyota Uhura looked up, her hands immediately retreating to her face, where she made a feeble attempt to staunch her bloody nose. Both Lieutenant Sulu and Pavel Chekov were rubbing their eyes, a result of a head-on (literally) collision with the navigational controls.

"Jim, what the hell was that?"

Chief Medical Officer Leonard McCoy was already standing up, glancing around, both hands on his hips.

"I don't know, but whatever it was, the ship's certainly been damaged."

The emergency lights were the only things on, and, when Kirk tried to page the ship, he got no reply.

The doors suddenly opened, as Lieutenant Scott, head of Engineering, burst into the bridge, breathing heavily.

"Scotty, what the hell is the meaning of this?" Asked an indignant McCoy.

"Well, I-I-I canna tell ye, but, and don any of ye call me crazy, but we're the only ones left en this 'ere ship!"

"What's the meaning of this?" inquired a dazed Uhura.

"I mean what I tell 'ye. It's only me, you- everyone on th' bridge."

The emotionless Mr. Spock looked up from where he was examining their surroundings. "By that, you refer to Captain Kirk, Lieutenant Sulu, Ensign Chekov, yourself, Lieutenant Uhura, Dr. McCoy-"

Spock's speech was broken by a high-pitched scream, coming from the left-hand corner of the bridge.

Lieutenant Uhura, with a terrified look on her face, was on the ground, covered in blood. She cradled an almost unrecognizable body, which the blood flowed freely, staining her light blue uniform a sickly purple.

This part of the bridge was burned and crushed in, as if the _Enterprise_ had been in a collision with another craft or had been hit by a phaser.

Kirk had no recollection of a phaser attack, but that wasn't his main concern at the moment.

McCoy pushed through the others, kneeling down next to Uhura. From his pocket he extracted his tricorder, waiving it over the body.

For those few nanoseconds, Kirk awaited McCoy's infamous words.

But, to his relief, they never came.

"Jim, she's alive, but she needs attention, quickly. A transfusion, surgery- anything!"

Kirk looked at Scotty, who slowly shook his head.

"The damage reports show tha' sickbay's completely destroyed. All there's left are some tools an' maybe a quart of blood, but thas' not our biggest concern."

"Sir, you meen to tell me that it geets vorse?"

"Well, th' oxygen levels in th' bridge are approaching a, um, dangerously low level an' we canna stay here much longer."

McCoy gave Scotty an incredulous look.

"I just can't believe it! Is there anything left on this goddamn ship?"

"Mr. Spock, back me up on this here one with a good expl' nation," protested Scotty.

Spock, as if waking from a trance, tore his eyes away from the victim.

"It is true. It we are to survive, we have approximately 4.53 minutes to beam down to the planet below. From what I deduce from the reading, the area in which our coordinates show seems to have sustainable oxygen levels and a tropical climate, similar to Earth. "

The response was immediate- it didn't matter what

Mr. Sulu jumped up, "Then what are we waiting for?"

Dr. McCoy attempted to protest, but Spock held out his arm.

"It seems as if we have no other choice. It is the logical option."

McCoy grudgingly seemed to agree, grabbing the last of his medical supplies. The others grabbed phasers and headed to the transporter room.

The ship was a mess- debris was scattered everywhere, susceptibly from the large jolt, but they saw not a single body.

Mr. Scott quickly switched the transporters to autopilot, as Kirk, Uhura, McCoy, Scotty and Sulu filed under the transporters, with Chekov and Mr. Spock taking up the rear.

The mangled body of Christine Chapel was strung between them.

As Scotty pushed the button on the remote, they energized, transporting onto the unknown surface below.


	2. Chapter 2

The last thing they remembered was being caught in a gold beam and, as a result of some miracle, landing gently on the surface of Earth tangled in the useless parachute.

She remembered he had tried to stand, but a bright green light had blinded them, as they fell to the ground.

Her eyes flew open, and the first thing she saw was another man- he clearly wasn't the president.

He had on a stained blue shirt, and had short brown hair. He seemed to be bending over something- or someone, she thought, with a shudder. Sensing that no one was looking, she slowly stood up, approaching the man, she hit him over the head, forcing him into a defenseless position.

He tried to yell, but it was in vain.

"What'd you do with the president! Why'd you bring us here? Are you a part of it?"

But before he could answer, they were around her, with their guns out.

And the president was with them.

His hands were free, and he seemed to be talking to the man in the yellow shirt.

She wanted to call out, but thought that that might make the situation worse. She dropped the defenseless man.

The president came up to her, taking her hand.

"They're not here to hurt us- they're just as confused as we are," he whispered.

Once she knew she was safe-at least for the moment- she took a good look at them as the president resumed his conversation with the man.

Including the man she had pinned down, there appeared to be 7 of them- 8 if the thing laying on the ground was a living thing.

_Only one female_, she thought to herself. They surely didn't know much about sexism.

She was tallish- five seven, maybe- with dark skin and a mass of short, brown hair. Her uniform- which might've been a vibrant red if it wasn't covered in dirt and- she thought with a shiver- blood.

Standing alongside the woman were 2 young men, wearing yellow shirts. One was Asian and had his arms crossed across his chest. His hight of about six feet allowed him to tower over the other man, who was only about five-nine. This one was pale, with a scruff of brown hair, and seemed to be in a heated conversation with the woman.

Autumn glanced over to the president, who stood with the remainder of the men. Well, except for the one she had encountered earlier, who was back to tending the something laying on the ground.

The one with the redshirt seemed older- maybe in his late 30's, judging by his hair, which showed a few grey hairs- and was listening intently to the conversation. Next to him was another something, Autumn thought with a shudder, as she looked more closely. He- she guessed it was a he- looked like a mix between a chinese person, a rabbit, and a basketball player. He wore a blue shirt and had greenish, yet still flesh-colored skin, odd, pointed ears, pitch-black almond-shaped eyes, and- weirdest of them all- eyebrows that were more tilted than usual. Like a basketball player, he towered over the others, and she couldn't even guess how tall he was.

That left the man the president was conversing with. This one was neither tall nor short, with sandy-brown hair and pleasantly tanned skin. He had a rouge, Indiana-Jonesish look and gave her a once-over, ending with a pleasing smile.

The president turned towards Autumn.

"Sermons, I'd like you to meet Captain James Kirk. Kirk, this is Sermons- she's from the CIA."

Kirk smiled, as Autumn looked shyly at the ground. Who in God's name were these people?

"Sermons, now as I've explained to Mr. Obama, who finally believes me after, erm, a bit of struggle, we have no idea about this plan to kill the president. In fact, we've never been here before- our instruments gave out after the attack. We're from the starship _Enterprise,_ part of the United Federation of Planets, and..."

He trailed off, presumably seeing the incredulous look on her face. Facing the president, he shook his head.

"Please try to believe me- it was 2,524 the last time I checked- October 15, 2,524 I think. And our starship, it was caught in some sort of attack or forcefield, even we can't figure it out. Our crew is gone- once again, we don't know what happened- Mr. Spock here is working on that."

Here he gestured at the odd-looking one.

"We've got one injured, pretty severely. And we'd have stayed up on the ship, but the oxygen levels are dangerously low, and-"

"Are you high?"

Crap. She hadn't meant to say that.

Luckily, he didn't seem angry, and the one in the red let out a small chuckle.

"Please believe us-"

"We believe you."

Autumn turned to the president- how was he not suspicious?

"Mr. President-" she attempted to whisper, but he stomped on her foot, shutting her up. Taking her away from the group, he began to whisper in her ear.

"I know it sounds crazy, but we've got to at least pretend to believe them- they have weapons, we don't."

Autumn sighed. As usual, he was right.

"Yes sir. But really- 2,524?"

"It could be. I mean, when have you ever seen something that looks like that one- Spuck, I think."

From what Autumn was told- and, as a top CIA analyst, she was basically told everything- NASA had made contact with extraterrestrial life, but were still planning the mission to visit them.

Was it possible that they had paid a visit first?

Turning to Kirk, Autumn said, "Captain, I think there's been a slight misunderstanding. If you've been contacted by NASA, this is the wrong branch of government."

The one in the red murmured something about that old organization, but the tall one put a stop to that.

Kirk slowly shook his head.

"NASA? They haven't been around for a few centuries- I mean, they're highly revered, for helping found the Federation, but they're mission have been transferred over to Starfleet."

Seeing their looks, he further explained.

"Starfleet? United Federation of Planets? Klingons, Romulans? Vulcans? Earth?"

That got a reaction out of both Autumn and the president, and they were rewarded with another of Kirk's smiles.

"Oh, you're from Earth too? Which country? I'm originally from Iowa, in the United States of America. Do you know where-?"

Autumn turned to the president, her mouth hanging open. Before he could say anything, she blurted, "Do you know who he is! Barack Obama? President of the United States!"

James Kirk looked at her with an odd look.

"President of America? Not prime minister? There's only 1 president- the president of the Federation!"

"No, and I don't even know what this Federation is. And what in the world is a Klingon?"

At this, the president decided to intervene.

"It seems, Mr. Kirk, that we are both confused. But, do I ask, where do you presume we are if it is not on Earth?"

The expression on Kirk's face was priceless.

"Not on Earth? Hell, we could be anywhere! Rigel 3, Atomus 54, Vulcan, anywhere in the universe! We were attempting to enter orbit around Sagittarius 6 when something seemed to pull on us and we were wrecked and-"

Here he stopped, as if he remembered something.

"Barack Obama?"

The president smiled, "At your service."

"I remember learning about you in history class- you were an awful president your first term- bad with money. But during your second term, you managed to end the recession, and finally made contact with extraterrestrial life, and-"

"Wait, SECOND term?"

Kirk let out a laugh, "Of course! In the end, you were considered one of the greatest historical figures to ever-"

"But I'm still in my first term! Half the country hates me, like usual, and I didn't think I'd win. That's why we were flying to China -to discuss the debt and then travel to a secret meeting about, stuff..."

"What year is it?" asked Kirk.

Autumn replied, "It's October 15, 2012. And we are most definitely on Earth. Where on Earth, I don't know, but definitely on this planet."

The tall one interrupted here, "Logically, it seems as if we have time traveled. Which one of us has time traveled, I do not know."

This was too much for Autumn. "You mean that all this stuff- Klingons, the Federation, everything- it's all from the future?"

The president interrupted, only to say, "And I'm re-elected?"

The "Spock" one shook his head. "In our universe, you are re-elected. However, if we are in your present time- 2012-history is subject to change. Yet, if we are in another time, your re-election will be definite."

"But how do we figure out where and when we are?"

Kirk smiled sadly, "We'll have to figure it out on our own, I guess. But I hope we're near civilization- Christine needs immediate help!"

At this, the group dispersed- with Kirk and Spock going back over to the wounded person, and the president sitting down, requesting some alone time when Autumn went to talk to him.

Autumn sat down in the grass, observing her surroundings for the first time. Anything to take her mind off the ludicrous information she was just given.

The air wasn't too bad- it was warm outside. Judging by the tall palm trees and lush fauna, they were in a tropical climate- Bora Bora, maybe? She stood up, and, after walking for about 4 minutes, she could make out a beautiful beach, covered with white sand. Beyond that stretched the turquoise ocean- the Pacific, she assumed. It would've been beautiful, if they hadn't been almost assassinated earlier that day or if they hadn't been trapped here with Kirk and officers.

"Enjoying the view?" asked a voice behind her. Upon turning around, she saw the man she'd (accidentally, of course) attacked.

"Sure, but aren't you afraid that I'll knock you down again? If I were you, I'd be afraid."

He rolled his eyes, "I know, but I get why you did it. Would've done the same if it were I. But don't even think about trying that again."

She sat down in the grass, "So, why'd you wander out here? Not to see the view, I'd guess."

He joined her sitting down, "Actually, I just needed to get away from them back there. I know, I know, it's wrong to leave the patient, but Spock's keeping watch on her now. He knows how to circulate the blood, but if we can't get proper equipment..."

"Do you know...are you friends?" asked Autumn, not knowing if the victim was a boy or girl.

"Yeah. She's my head nurse, Christine. She's also a close friend of mine. If I lose her..."

Autumn knew how he felt- she had lost fellow friends during her time at the CIA. It hurt more than most people knew.

"I hope she makes it. I mean, I know how it feels. I've had friends who've died while executing strategies. And-"

She noticed that his eyes were fixated on her. She looked down, astonished to see that her skirt was ripped, along with her tights, exposing her legs (luckily it wasn't No-Shave November yet) . Her black blazer was long gone- lost in the crash, she assumed, and her white shirt was very see through- the reason she'd worn the blazer to begin with.

He looked up as she stood up quickly, pulling the remnants of her skirt down. They shared a guilty look.

"Umm, I think the Captain and the president might be organizing a search party-"

"Yeah, I should go."

Autumn scurried off, embarrassed. Why hadn't anyone told her that she looked so ridiculous? Unless they'd all been enjoying it, something she seriously doubted.

It wasn't that she was ugly or anything- she knew she wasn't. Growing up, she'd always been a bit overweight (okay, maybe more than a bit), with braces and acne. During high school she'd been teased about her weight, and once she'd gotten into Columbia to study biochemistry, she'd ignored her looks all together.

It was also during college she'd had outgrown her acne and had gotten the braces off. Thanks to student loans and the lack of a car, she'd lost some of the weight. It wasn't like she was super skinny or anything, but she was a size eight and was pretty fit, which was a big improvement from before. During that time, she'd evolved into something actually bearable to look at.

She reached into her coat pocket, pulling out her handy-dandy compact. Of course, the top had broken off, but the mirror remained, which was good in case they had to build a fire or something.

As she'd known, her hair was a mess. Usually straight and sleek- full thanks to Pantene hair products-, her long ponytail was a mess, frizzy and filled with dirt and matted. Her cheeks were also dirty and she had to spit on her hand to try to wipe off some of the dried blood.

She felt a small twinge of pain, and looked down, only to see that her reading glasses (previously in her shirt pocket) had shattered all over shirt, drawing blood.

Autumn sighed- she certainly didn't want to take the shirt off- she only had on a, well, she just didn't want to take it off, ok.

One more twinge of the glass and she had her answer. There was a stream near by where she could wash off the blood.

She quickly unbuttoned the shirt, heading over to the stream, where she washed her shirt. Hiding in the bushes, she wrung out the wet mess.

And that's when she heard someone say "Ouch!"

Someone who wasn't the doctor. A voice she hadn't heard before.

Of course, she chose this moment to let go of her shirt, letting it drift downstream.

"Who's there? Which one of Kirk's friends are you?"

A rustling came and the person emerged. From what she could see, he was wearing a wrinkled suit (probably Armani), leather shoes, and a red necktie.

"Kirk, who's that? And-"

"Mitt Romney?"

She instantly recognized him- the president's election rival from the Republican party.

"Autumn Sermons, what in holy Toledo are you doing here?"

He knew her- many people in government at least knew of her.

"I mean, I don't know where here is, but there was a plan-"

It suddenly dawned on her that he might've officiated the plan. She grabbed his ankles, which didn't do much good since she was still hiding in the bush, "Was it you who tried to kill us?"

He gave her an odd look, "Kill you, what? No! My team and I were just flying overhead, en route to Hawaii for some campaigning- not that I need it or anything- when something went wrong. There was a loud bang, like a door closing, and then silence. And then an explosion- thought someone was trying to assassinate me! And now we're here..."

He had no answers either, then.

"So the same thing happened to you? Who's we?"

From where she was hidden, he could only see her face.

"Well, let's see. There's me, and then there's my assistant, Martha. And then, um, Leah and Caitlyn."

Martha was Romney's well known assistant. Some said he only picked her since she was hot, but Autumn knew that she was actually smart. Sometimes.

"Sorry to ask, but who are Leah and Caitlyn."

Romney looked uncomfortable. "Just, erm, traveling companions, if you know what I mean."

It didn't take a genius to "know what he meant." She decided to leave the subject at that.

"Are you here with the president," he asked.

"Yeah. And, no offense, he probably won't be too happy to see you. And then there's some other people we saw. It's kind of a long story, but-"

"Sorry Sermons, but can you come out. I don't like talking to bushes."

"Sorry Mr. Romney, but I've kind of had an accident and I'm not exactly wearing a shirt, and-"

Romney smiled, "Then I demand you come out this instant!"

"Mr. Romney!"

"Just kidding. Eh- Leah! Pass me a shirt. No, I don't want to show, just give me the article of clothing."

Minutes later Autumn emerged, clothed in a tight black turtleneck. Kirk's men were sure to enjoy that.

Even if the president (whom she was loyal to, even if she was a registered Republican) objected, Autumn felt it her duty to show Romney and his party back to where the rest were congregated.

The moment they emerged, the talking between the men ceased. The president began to say "what the hell is he doing here," but stopped when he saw Martha, Leah, and Caitlyn. The only ones who didn't seem to be entranced by their looks were Uhura, who starred awkwardly at the ground and Mr. Spock, who looked forward, expressionless.

"Obama."

"Romney."

And that was all that was said between the two, even after Kirk had explained his story (with the help of Mr. Spock) to Romney's party. Autumn had been forced to choke up her story, and, along with the rest of Kirk's men, been forced to act as a moderator between the two.

And after 3 and 1/2 hours, Romney seemed to be satisfied with all of their explanations.

And they built and fire, settling down, safe at last.

Safe until they were all awakened by the high pitched yell of, "Professor, come quick, look what I found!"

**** Author's Note: I also don't own the Gilligan's Island characters. Oh well.****


	3. Chapter 3

**Anyway, I don't own Obama, Romney, Star Trek, or Gilligan's Island. Also, please review!**

Kirk's eyes flew open. All he could remember was accidentally breaking the Prime Directive? Were these Federation officers to come after him and his crew? From his position on the ground he could see a pair of what must've been white sneakers. Then a butterfly net. Then a red tee-shirt, and finally a face.

"Hello? Are you awake? Are you alive? Hi, I'm Gilligan. What's your name. PROFESSOR! Sorry to yell, but where are you from. PROFESSOR COME HERE! I FOUND PEOPLE! Alright, bye."

Kirk shut his eyes again. All he needed was to be woken up by an annoying, little, prepubescent brat and-

He jumped up, quickly extracting his phaser. The others around him were doing the same, and Autumn Sermons was brandishing a stick, along with Mr. Obama.

Mitt Romney shielded his eyes, trying to get a good look at the boy. "Were you almost assassinated too or just marooned here like the rest of us?"

The boy's eyes widened, "Wait, you're marooned here too? SO ARE WE! We've been here for almost 3 years after our ship the Minnow crashed, and-"

A rustling came as another man- this one older- emerged from the bushes.

"Gilligan, I told you not to call me unless it's an emergency and, GOOD HEAVENS!"

The man jumped about 4 feet in the air after seeing the party.

"We're not armed, I promise you that. May I ask who you are?"

The man was bombarded with 3 different answers as Mr. Obama answered "the president of the United States," Mr. Romney said, "The future president of the United States," and Chekov said "Vee are the keptin and krew of the starship _Enterprise."_

The man muttered another "good heavens," and, turning around, Kirk could finally see his face.

He practically had a heart attack.

And so did the man.

"Keptin," whispered Chekov, "do you heev a long-lost brother? Because thees man looks EXACTLY LIKE YOU!"

And across the way Kirk heard the young boy, Gilligan, say "gosh Professor, I didn't know you had a brother!"

Kirk decided to be the first one to speak, "I'm sorry for the confusion, it's quite a long story. If there's somewhere where we could sit down, I can explain almost the whole thing. But one of us is injured, and we need immediate attention. We're not asking for much, but if there's some basic medical supplies, our doctor can make do with that. But it's urgent."

The man seemed to regain his stature, "Of course. Follow me."

Kirk beckoned for the others to follow close behind, as Spock and McCoy took up the rear, carrying Chapel.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, until they came across what seemed like a small village, or a collection of huts.

"Mrs. Howell, Mary Anne, we've got a patient coming. I'll explain later. Ginger, Mr. Howell, Skipper, everyone, come on out!"

5 more people emerged. And then there was chaos, as Kirk's men were bombarded with questions and McCoy rushed Christine inside to one of the huts, with Spock following close behind.

He didn't notice any of it. All he saw was her. If he thought Leah and Caitlyn were beautiful, then she was a goddess. He was helpless- all he could do was stare at her- her perfect body, her red hair.

His trance was interrupted by Scotty beckoning for him to sit down. When he turned, she was gone.

The president beckoned all of them to sit down, as he began to tell his story, with the help of Autumn.

But he couldn't concentrate. All he could think of was her, back in that hut with McCoy and Spock. For once, he envied them- they were the ones who got to look at her the whole time. But no, he had to stay here, along with the rest of them.

Sulu must have noticed his helpless look, and he turned to Kirk. "I saw her too- what a piece of art!"

Kirk nodded, barely listening to the president and Scotty's explanations. Instead he looked around at the rest of the motley crew. There was the young boy- Gilligan, he thought- who was always bouncing around- he had just tripped over a chair while bringing them some fruit, and had now returned to what Kirk assumed was the kitchen.

He wasn't as bad as he seemed this morning, though. He was polite, even if he was a bit clumsy.

At the table were 3 men- someone called "Skipper," Mr. Howell, and "Professor." From where Kirk was sitting, Skipper seemed to tower over (both vertically and horizontally) the others. He wore a blue polo and seemed to be a decent man- he had voiced his opinions on their stories honestly, but was now beginning to believe them about the time traveling business. He, like Kirk, had learned to believe even the incredulous.

Sitting on his left was the older one- Mr. Howell. And he didn't seem to be a decent man, not at all. It was something about his smile and the way he smacked his riding crop that made Kirk unable to trust this man.

The president seemed to feel the same way and, judging by his glances over at Howell, wasn't to keen on letting any secrets slip around him either. In the 2 hours they'd been talking,Howell had first called everyone a liar, and, once giving into the suspicion that they were telling the truth, had wanted to buy their stories from them. He had made nasty remarks to Mr. Obama and Uhura about living in the slums, had called Scotty a drunkard more times than Kirk could count, and refused to talk to Chekov, since he hated the "commies."

Actually, all of them seemed especially wary of Chekov, and looked at him like he might blow up any second. Kirk recalled that for much of the middle of the 20th century, the Russians were at odds with the Americans, resulting in something called the "Cold War." It seemed pointless- why have a war with no fighting, let alone a war at all.

And finally, there was the Professor, who, despite his handsome looks, reminded him so much of Spock, it made him chuckle. Honestly, if there was a pair of long lost brothers, it would be them. Both of them, fixated on logic and science, when did this one ever have fun?

He was hard to convince, since he kept balancing the scientific and logical possibilities of what happened. But once he believed them, he was ready to help. He finally left to join McCoy in the "operating room," since he apparently had some medical experience.

Kirk smiled- he would at last meet Spock, which would either be very boring or very entertaining- Kirk hoped the latter. And he would get to be with her. Lucky bastard- they all got to be with her 24/7.

Kirk was shaken awake by Sulu's bad attempt to hide his laughter. He looked around, only to see that Mr. Romney, Mr. Howell, Sulu, and himself remained.

And Mr. Romney was pinned to the table by Howell, who had a tight grip on Romney's tie.

"I've told you 30 times, I have no idea what this Bain Capital is, but it's rubbish compared to Howell Enterprises!"

At this, Romney yelled while trying to kick Howell, resulting in more laughter from Sulu.

"Howell, no one's ever heard of Howell Enterprises in my day! Which, may I remind you, is AFTER your time. So it either was insignificant, or DIDN'T EXIST. I hope you never get rescued, you fool!"

"IT'S MORE SIGNIFICANT THAN YOU'RE FAILURE OF A COMPANY! I BET THIS BAIN CAPITAL IS ONE OF THOSE PLACES WHERE EVERYONE'S TREATED EQUALLY AND GETS FAIR PAY!"

"Excuse me Howell, but are you calling me a DEMOCRAT?"

"I bloody well am!"

Romney finally made it out of his chair, tackling Howell to the ground.

"You deserve to have your mouth washed out with soap like my good Mormon mother did to me! DON'T YOU EVER USE THAT WORD AROUND OR ABOUT ME, YOU SICK BASTARD!"

"Well at least I knew who my mother is! I wonder which wife you're actually related to, eh Romney!"

This was all too much for Romney, who made an attempt to bite Mr. Howell's ear off. Kirk and Sulu both jumped up, trying to pull the pair apart. Checkov and the Professor, who had just emerged from the hut, joined in the effort as well.

"Curse you Romney! My best shirt's been ruined by your tom-foolery, you-"

"Best shirt, Howell? That style hasn't been around since 1960-"

"Well, maybe it's vintage!"

The Professor rushed over to Howell, whispering something in his ears- Kirk made out the word "Teddy-" and Howell, with a dramatic whip of his tie, exited down one of the dirt paths.

Romney was barely on his feet before Kirk grabbed him.

"Mr. Romney, what was that? I made it CLEAR that we have to be on good terms with these people- they're the ones feeding us, after all."

Romney gave him a disapproving look. "He insulted my family's honor," was all he said, before retreating back to the table, where one of his hookers (at least that's what Kirk thought they were, the lucky man) began to give him foot massage.

Kirk finally turned to Chekov, who was lying on the ground, covered in sweat.

"The operating room proved to be too much to Mr. Chekov," the Professor explained.

On the ground, Chekov nodded, shuddering.

"So was the strain of the girls ducking behind the table every time he moved, talked, or breathed. I am sorry that others are so unaccept-"

Chekov gave another strangled cry, and the subject was immediately dropped. Professor turned to the remaining men.

"Anyway, I now need an extra hand in the operating room. Captain, Dr. McCoy suggested that Sulu-"

"I'll do it."

Sulu looked at Kirk. Kirk hated doing anything that involved the sick or injured (partly since it was usually him who was injured). Kirk surreptitiously moved his hands, tracing the outline of a woman in the air. Sulu understood.

"Actually, Professor, I don't have the best stomach when it comes to blood. I think Captain Kirk would be much better in this type of situation."

The Professor seemed skeptical, "Yes, but Dr. McCoy specifically asked for you , Mr. S-"

"No, seriously, I think I'll faint if I even see blood. Also, I vomit when people talk about-"

With a shake of the Professor's head, he beckoned for Kirk to follow him into the hut.

And that's when Kirk wondered if losing his lunch was really worth getting the girl.

The room was a mess, and the acrid scent of blood and torture hung in the air. McCoy was bent over what seemed to be the operating table. His gloves, shirt, even his shoes were covered in bloodstains. It was on the dirt floor, on the once-white sheets, everywhere.

And there she was, wearing a doctor's coat and glasses (which, Kirk noticed, were missing the lenses), holding a bucket of water and a sponge.

Scattered around the room were Spock, a short but pretty brunette, an older yet sophisticated woman, Uhura, and Romney's assistant, Martha. Each of them had a worried look on their face, and were holding a tool.

"Bones, are you alright? Do you need me in here, or...?"

CMO Leonard McCoy turned around, wiping sweat from his brow. "Jim, run over there and pumping that machine- no, to the right. That's it. It's a contraption that the professor or whatever the heck his name is came up with. Pumps oxygen into that there mask. Hurry, goddammit!"

Kirk looked warily over at the contraption, made of bamboo and some rubber casing. Like everything else, it was dirtied with blood and dust. All he wanted to do was run, but one look at Bones' sweaty yet determined face, Christine's limp body- even Spock had what seemed like a determined grimace on his usually expressionless face- and he knew that he belonged here, suffering with his crew.

He began to pump. It didn't matter what happened with Ginger, not at this moment. Kirk was confident that he'd get her in the end- after all, he always did.

And pumped, and pumped, and pumped. What seemed like 4 hours in, his feet felt like they'd fall off, his arms were numb, and he was just as sweaty and disgusting as the others. He felt fortunate that he wasn't the only one who felt a bit sick to the stomach. Even Mrs. Howell- that was the sophisticated woman's name, he had learned- who had been strong throughout almost the whole ordeal had thrown up. Bones had been sick at least twice (once vomiting on Spock- Kirk wondered if this was on purpose or not- it definitely wasn't out of his character), but had refused to leave Chapel's bedside. Even Spock hadn't been fazed by this and was too focused on Christine.

It wasn't a secret that Chapel had always felt something for Spock, who never returned the feelings. Kirk had unfortunately found this out after an unsuccessful attempt to woo the blonde nurse. (Not that anyone needed to know this- it if ever got out, well...).

It was a shame that Christine wasn't conscious to see Spock kneeling by her side, holding her hand while sponging her down. Apparently McCoy had recommended both of these gestures.

Finally, after what must've been an eternity, McCoy turned around, sinking to the ground, burying his head in his hands.

It seemed like everyone was holding their breath. something illegible came out of McCoy's mouth.

"Bones, what was that?"

Peeking through his dirty hands, McCoy whispered something.

"I'm done."

"Is she...?" Kirk feared he'd say those fateful words.

"She-She's...she'll make it Jim."

The pretty brunette- Mary Anne?- let out a whoop, and Mrs. Howell began to cry tears of joy.

"N-now don't start getting all excited. She's okay, for now, but I don't know what'll happen later. It's a shaky path from here, but, erm, thanks for the help, and.."

He caught his breath, "Is there anywhere to clean up from here- Jim, don't stop pumping!"

Kirk felt a tap on his shoulders, and turned to face a sweaty Spock.

"Captain, it would be the more efficient and thus more logical if I were to do that. Considering that I have greater strength and have the sta-"

"Take it, Spock. I don't need convincing, I'll just go and..."

He trailed off- he knew where he was going, and it involved a certain redhead in lensless glasses. With an eyebrow raise in her direction, Spock took the pump from Kirk's tired arms. And with that, Kirk ran out of the hut, away from destruction to paradise once more.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: I don't own Star Trek, Gilligan's Island, or Obama and Romney. Please comment if anything is spelled wrong or referenced wrong.**

Montgomery Scott had realized he didn't do well with blood and hospitals long ago. So once the meeting was over, he got the hell out of there. He was worried about Christine- they were friends, after all- but knew that his vomiting and squeamishness wouldn't be of any help to McCoy. He could deal with it on most missions, but if it was up to him, he'd like to avoid the operating room all together- both as a patient and as a doctor/nurse.

He continued to pace, like he did aboard the Enterprise. Finally, he looked up and, seeing he was at the top of a cliff, stopped and sat down, looking out at the view. It was getting closer to dusk- the sun was beginning to set. It looked like a hill he used to visit when he was a boy. Of course, the Scottish highlands looked nothing like this tropical landscape- too many palms and not enough heather- but with a bottle of scotch and a pretty girl, it would be pretty close.

He turned, hearing footsteps behind him. It was one of those girls that had come with Romney. He smiled to himself- well, now all he needed was the bottle of whiskey.

About to ask her to sit down, Scotty was interrupted by a series of loud panting noises, followed by a string of swears.

"Leah! Get back here and carry this water canister. FASTER! And then you'll sit down while I'll- Oh, hello Mr. Spock. Look at how lazy this girl is, I mean if she belonged to you, wouldn't you just want-"

Scotty's mind raced- did he just say _she belonged to him?_ _DID HE JES' CALL ME MR. SPOCK?_

"Mr. Scott."

Romney gave him a confused look, "What?"

"Ye called me Mr. Spock, sir. I'm Scott. Montgomery Scott."

"Well, golly Mr. Scott, I am sorry. Can I join you- LEAH, GET OVER HERE AND BRING THE WATER CANISTER! I'm sorry Mr. Scott, it's just that when I'm tired, I'm crabby- LEAH WHERE THE HECK ARE YOU?"

_The poor girl_, thought Scotty. He looked up, only to see her struggling with a large, plastic bottle.

"Here, lassie, let m' help ye with that," he said, taking the bottle from her, "Thas' a bit too big of a load for anybody to carry."

She opened her mouth, as if about to thank him, but Mr. Romney was on his feet, right behind her.

"I'm sorry that you had to do that Mr. Scotty. Leah, gosh darn it! What took you so long, you lazy...never mind. Just sit down and-"

"Mr. Romney, it really wasn't anything. It's jes' that th' bottle was to-"

"Quiet Mr. Scott. Now, you know what I'd love, eh Leah? I'd love a nice, long, hard- "

"Mr. Romney, should I leave," asked Scotty, quickly turning around. To his dismay, he got no reply, only a few grunting noises. Scotty took that as his cue to turn and run. He sure didn't need to see (or hear) any of that.

_Boy that Romney fella was rude_, thought Scotty as he began to head back to the camp. _I have a right mind t' go back an' give 'im a piece of my mind!_

Lucky for Romney, he didn't plan on it.

Until he heard a high-pitched scream coming back from the direction of the cliff. Then a few muddled words, and another scream.

He turned, running back. Poor girl!

But when he made it back, it was a strange sight that met his eyes. A shoeless Romney was running towards Leah, one leather shoe in his hand, yelling "Find it or else."

Leah was on the ground, frantically searching for something (perhaps the other shoe?), and trying to avoid Romney's yelling. Finally, Romney launched the shoe into the air. It sailed for a few seconds before hitting Leah square in the cheek.

This was too much for Scotty. He ran over to her, bending down next to her, where he found not one but two shoes.

Leah's had a small cut on her cheek, where the shoe had drawn blood. Scotty quickly reached into his pocket, pulling out a slightly soiled handkerchief.

"Here lass. Use this to blot th' blood."

She nodded. "Thanks."

"Sure. An' don'cha worry, lassie. I'll take care o' this," promised Scotty, picking up the pair of shoes.

This won a small smile from Leah as Scotty picked up the shoes, marching over to Romney.

"Mr. Romney, wha' merits this behavior from ye?"

Romney looked ashamed, "Golly, I didn't mean to hit her in the cheek. I was more aiming for the shoulders or the-"

Scotty glared at him in disbelief, "Well, ye shouldn't have hit her at all! After what ye've already done to her, I mean-"

"Really, Mr. Scott, let's not jump to conclusions. There's no need to get angry- although that's what all drunkards do. Hmm. All I wanted was a simple foot massage. A nice, long, hard foot massage. And I was ready to ask you to join me, but you left. Tsk, tsk, how rude. And how do you repay me? You tell me how to live my life!"

Scotty blushed. So that's what was going on, not-

"And I have every right to yell at Leah. I EMPLOY her, it's my job to yell at her. And, in trying to get my shoes off, she misplaced one. That is just unacceptable. My shoes are Armani leather and they don't come cheap, let me tell you that! She should be used to my ways by now."

"Ye mean t' tell me tha' this is how ye treat her normally? That's jes' wrong. Ye should treat her like a lady!"

"Lady, HA! Really, Mr. Scott, I didn't know you were into what we call "ye old chivalry." And let me tell you that even the kindest knight would have a fit if his mistress took 15 MINUTES to find a damn pair of slippers. And if you want to tell me what to do, which, let me tell you, is NOT tolerated, you can just leave! There! That's your punishment, you don't get to enjoy my company any longer!"

Scotty didn't need convincing- he turned and began to walk away, muttering about drunkards and Romney when, speak of the devil, he heard Romney's shouting coming closer once again.

"You know what? You deserve worse than that! Don't think I didn't hear your _Romney's the one acting drunk_ comment, because I sure did! So instead you can sit down next to Leah and take my left foot."

Scotty stared at him with a look of confusion on his face. "Mr. Romney, I'm not sure I understand."

Romney rolled his eyes. "Well, you're obviously going to assist Leah in giving me a foot massage. It doesn't take a genius to figure that one out. And you call yourself an engineer, well!"

Scotty didn't respond to that one. It was probably better to keep his opinion inside when in front of Romney. Who knew what other odd jobs he might have?

With a shudder, Scotty sat down next to Leah and, with clear look of disgust on his face, took Romney's foot in his hands.

His sock was an ugly grayish green color, and smelled worse than Kirk's "home cooked" meals (which was saying something).

Looking at Leah, he began to gingerly rub Romney's heel.

"Not like that, you imbecile! You have to take off the sock first! It's like you've never given a foot massage before!"

"Well, sir, I haven't-"

"Never mind. Just take the damn sock off and start rubbing and-"

Scotty didn't hear the rest. He was too disgusted by the rancid smell wafting off Romney's foot. It had gotten at least 4 times worse without the sock, which laid in a soaking heap off to the side.

He looked over at Leah, who was rubbing the ball and heel of Romney's foot and, to Scotty's dismay, was occasionally rubbing his toes as well.

One look at Romney's displeased face and Scotty began to do the same. While doing so, he made a silent promise to never complain about helping Dr. McCoy with his patients, because this was much, much worse.

_When I get back, I'm going straight to my quarters and opening a fresh bottle of whiskey, reserved for traumatic experiences. Like this here one!_

And then he remembered that they were on an island where the strongest stuff was million-dollar champagne (according to that Mr. Howell). And, since there was no ship, there were no quarters to retreat to.

Scotty wondered if they'd ever make it off this island- neither their phasers nor communicators worked. The tricorder and other medical equipment worked, but that wouldn't help get them off the island

Scotty sighed. The ship was uninhabitable anyway.

An annoyed cough from Romney brought Scotty back to reality.

"Gosh darn it, man! I thought that an engineer with your smarts could follow simple directions, but apparently not. I specifically told you to rub my feet, not my ankles!"

Scotty looked down at where he had been rubbing and quickly moved back to his feet.

And they massaged and rubbed and were yelled at for the next 15 minutes.

The moment Romney grumbled that they could leave, Scotty grabbed Romney's socks, handed them back to him, and took off. He was scared Romney would want a back massage or something next.

He heard a voice call out behind him, but he wan't falling for that trick again. He sped up.

"Wait, wait! Mr. Scott! I just wanted to-"

The speaker never finished her sentence. What came next were a few muffled "ouches" and thumps.

Scotty turned to see Leah collapsed on top a nearby bush. He quickly ran over, helping her up.

"Lassie, are ye okay? That looked like one mighty big spill!"

She nodded, "I think I can walk. That was stupid of me, though. I'm usually not that klutzy."

"Perhaps it's the fact that yer runnin' in them high heels. I dinna even know how you walk in those things, let alone run."

Leah looked down, as if noticing the mile-high shoes for the first time. She smiled, "I guess that would make things a little tricky. I don't know- I guess I've just gotten used to them."

She took a few steps, but tripped again.

"Would it be easier if ye took them off?"

At this, Leah blushed, "I can't exactly do that. Um, it's kind of a long story, but, erm, maybe later..."

Leah began to walk more quickly while Scotty tried to figure out what he'd said. _I dinna mean to upset the young lady_, he thought, looking down.

When he looked up, Leah was on the ground again, this time holding what seemed like a glittery stick.

"Oh, it's no use! Damn it, I've broken the heel."

Scotty smiled, swallowing a laugh, "Then I guess you'll have t' tell me th' story after all. We've got all day."

_Or a year. Or the rest of our lives_, thought Scotty, ominously.

Leah agreed, hopping over to a nearby tree stump.

"Fine, Mr. Scott-"

"Aw, lassie, ye can call me Scotty."

"Okay Mr. S-Scotty. But you have to promise me one thing."

"An' what's that, lass?"

"You can't laugh."

"An' why would I do that to such a bonnie lady as yourself?"

At this, a stormy look crossed Leah's face, but disappeared as fast as it had come. "Um, just listen to the story!"

"Fine. I promise. Cross m' heart."

"Alright, I trust you. So, um, I kind of lied when I was getting my job. With Romney. And he said he needed a tall and sexy girl. And, uh, I've got the sexy part down, but I'm kind of struggling with the tall part. So I wear heels and I can't let him see me without them or he'll find out I'm only five-three and not five-nine, like I told him, and if I get fired, I'll-"

She stopped suddenly, catching herself. "Um, bad stuff will happen."

They sat there for a few minutes without speaking.

It was Leah who finally broke the silence, saying that she should leave.

Scotty watched her slowly get up, hopping on one foot.

"Maybe we can fix th' shoe?"

This got her to turn around. "What?"

Scotty smiled, "We can fix it. I'm th' head engineer on the best ship. Fixin' a shoe should b' easy compared to th' _Enterprise_."

Leah sat down on the grass, murmuring what sounded like a thank you. She took off the shoe, exposing raw and bloody toes.

"I guess I'm the one who really needs a foot massage. I guess that's what I get for hiking in heels."

"After we fix this here shoe, ye can go see Dr. McCoy. I'll be he can fix ye up in-"

"NO!

Giving her a puzzled look, Scotty confusedly shook his head. "Whatever pleases ye, lass."

The same stormy look crossed her face again.

Using a piece of tree stump and some twine made from palm leaves, the shoe was fixed in just under 15 minutes.

"Here, put this on, an' try to walk on it."

Leah put the shoe on and got up, walking perfectly. But Scotty saw that the shoe wasn't the problem- her feet were.

"Leah, I'm sorry, but I canna let ye suffer like that. Come on, les jest go to Dr. McCoy."

"No, no, stop, we can't! Um, Romney wouldn't like that."

"But-"

"Sorry."

Another awkward silence fell upon them as they continued their walk back to camp.

"Why don ye jest leave him?"

Leah turned. "what?"

Scotty sighed- he hadn't meant to upset the young lady. "Why don ye jest get another job? C'mon, even I know that there're better jobs out there besides bein' Romney's who- um, his personal masseuse?"

A sad laugh came from Leah. "Masseuse? That's what you think I am? God, I wish, but it's nothing as easy as that. It' hard- emotionally and physically, what I do, if you know what I mean."

They were approaching camp, and Scotty saw a few of the crew and island members scattered about. Trying to hide his red face, he quickly slowed down.

"Um, I'm sorry to intrude, young lady," he quickly muttered, while turning away, "I'm just surprised that a man runnin' for the head of th' law would break it so blatantly."

A few moments of silence passed and, just as Scotty thought she was gone, he heard an astonished gasp from behind.

"You think I'm a hooker, don't you?"

Sheepishly, Scotty turned around, "No no no, lass, I jest though-"

"Yeah, that's what you thought! That's not what I meant by physical and emotional! And you know what? I bet all of this "lets help Leah and be so nice to her" is just a ruse so you'll get a discount price! And-"

She was yelling by now, and, just to Scotty's luck, Kirk, McCoy, the Professor, and Mr. Obama were all sitting around at the table. They began to look up as Leah continued her rant.

"I can't believe it! You know what? I thought you were really chivalrous and nice, and I thought that maybe, just maybe, I'd met a man who wasn't a stupid dog! But no! All men are the same- they just look at the outside and make stupid assumptions!"

Now she was starting to cry. Scotty reached out to comfort her, but her hand flew out, punching him in the stomach.

"Just because I dress like this doesn't make me a hooker! Hello, it's what Romney tells me to wear!"

She looked up, as if noticing the audience for the first time.

"What're you looking at? Huh? HUH?"

With that, she ran (or hobbled, actually) over to the hut, disappearing behind it.

Scotty was still doubled over, trying to figure out what had happened.

Kirk and McCoy came over to him, and McCoy had an irritating smirk across his face.

"Gee, Jim, I've seen loads of women do that to you, but never seen that happen to Mr. Chivalry over here."

To Scotty's annoyance, Kirk chuckled, "Wish I'd recorded that. What the heck happened?"

Scotty, who was still trying to catch his breath, beckoned the two over to the nearby bench, where he quickly sat down.

"I canna really figure it out. I was jest tryin' to find some peace an' quiet, but I came across Mr. Romney. Captain, I know ye told us to treat everyone with kindness an' I try to abide by that an' not cause trouble. I've learned my lesson after dealin' with the Klingons that one time."

Kirk sighed, "I knew that Romney would cause trouble. He's, well, let's just say that I don't want to cross his path any time soon."

"Yes, sir. An' he was treatin' Leah like, well, like a slave! I tried helpin' but I ended up jest leavin' but I came back in the end an' Mr. Romney dinna like that I stood up for her. I ended up massagin' his feet as punishment! An' I helped her get down the mountain in those heels an-"

McCoy held up a hand, "Did you just say you massaged his FEET?"

"Yes, Doctor, an'-"

"Well of all cruel and unusual punishments...His feet, Jim, his FEET! Boy, those must've stank like-"

"I know, Bones, I get it. But why'd she slap you?"

"Well, after I helped her, I asked why she dinna quit her job with Mr. Romney- her job as a masseuse, that is. But she said that she wasn't a masseuse, an' that her job was "hard emotionally an' physically" And I thought that maybe she was a, um, a, um-"

"We know- Bones, no comments- continue."

"She somehow knew what I was thinkin' and started yellin' at me for being a stupid dog. An' I dinna mean to make her mad- I dinna even say what I was thinking. I feel like such a bad person! I canna even believe that I upset her like that!"

Kirk put his hand on Scotty's shoulder, "I bet she'll get over it. I mean, knowing you, you didn't mean to offend her."

McCoy placed his hand on Scotty's other shoulder, "Yeah. Jim's said way worse to women, but in the end they always end up-"

"Bones, what did I say about commenting?"

"Jim, I've had a long day. You know, with operating on my nurse and friend. Also watching her almost die."

Kirk rolled his eyes. He and Scotty both knew that he would've made his comments no matter what was going on. "Scotty, I'm sure it'll just blow over. But, and I'm just saying, she's a good-looking-"

"She doesn't like it when I call her lassie."

"Maybe she's not the one after all. Forget I said anything."

"I canna figure out why. Maybe she thinks I'm teasin' her?"

McCoy sighed, "Most normal women like a bit of teasing. Come on, let's go find something to eat."

And with that, the trio walked back into the jungle.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Happy Inauguration everyone! I haven't posted in a while, since I was busy. Anyway, in the spirit of the inauguration, here is a chapter concerning our political friends.**

**Disclaimers are illogical.**

**Enjoy.**

President Barack Hussein Obama was the president of the United States. He'd realized long ago that this title was what got him and his family special privileges. This, of course, could range anywhere from having a private jet to skipping the lines at the grocery store (not that he ever actually BOUGHT anything at the grocery store- only for good press, of course). Although his job was the epitome of stressful, it did have its perks. His personal favorite was an array of personal chefs, brought in from various 5-star restaurants. In the past, Michelle had cooked, but this was much better.

_So why_, he asked himself, _am I the one in this hell-hole they call a "kitchen," on this GODFORSAKEN island._

Just because he was from Hawaii didn't mean he liked to spend his time on islands. Hawaii was populated and sunny with good restaurants.

Hawaii also didn't have Mitt Romney sitting at a bamboo table, chowing down fresh-caught Mahi Mahi while he was scrubbing dishes.

Apparently the people on this island didn't understand that presidents got special privileges.

This was made apparent earlier that day, soon after that so-called "Doctor" (Obama wanted to see that man's credentials) had saved the blonde's life.

Of course, Romney, being the pompous ass he was, had already picked a fight with Mr. Howell. After the fight had been resolved, Obama decided there needed to be some sort of order on this island.

All he'd done was merely _suggest_ that he should lead the island and pandemonium broke loose.

Actually, Romney was the only angry one- throwing a rock at a tree and yelling that he needed a good massage.

That Professor soon spoke, saying that the island had no designated leader and that it would remain that way.

Lucky for Obama, he wasn't the only one bothered by this. The Captain, who said nothing, nodded his head, finally saying that he respected this statement, but he wondered how that would settle with the others.

Ever so eloquently, the Professor replied that "to get along, there must be no leader, since this island has experienced neither total anarchy nor dictatorship throughout the time we have been here, and, based on my observations, this system of equality must continue."

And Obama didn't understand a damn word of this. That man said something about a "system of equality," and that's when the wheels in his head began to turn.

_An election, _ he thought, _is always the most equal system of electing a head. With this number of people, total chaos and anarchy will surely erupt! _

_It'll also be a way to settle this battle with Romney, once and for all._

It was a win-win situation- after all, who else could these fools elect but the president of the United States?

He decided to begin his campaigning straight away. Even if there wasn't an election, in the case of an emergency, making friends would end up protecting him in the long run.

He turned to the Captain, who seemed to be deep in thought.

"So, Mr. Kirk, is it? How long have you been a starship captain?"

Kirk did not answer- all he did was stare off into the distance. Obama decided to try another question.

"Where were you born? America, I suppose?"

"Riverside, Iowa," he mumbled.

Obama smiled- this was something he could work with!

"I bet your folks are proud that someone who's come from so little has made it so far!"

This got Kirk's attention, "What?"

"Well, Captain, I asked if your folks are proud, since you've made it so far with so little?"

"Little what?"

Obama sighed- did this man know ANYTHING? "Money, of course! It's just wonderful when someone from a small town makes it in this big world, with so many with more oppressing-"

"Excuse me, but I'm not quite sure what you're implying-"

"No no! I hope I haven't offended you! I just meant to say that boys like you from the Midwest don't often make it so far, especially with members of the upper classes beating them down into the gutters!"

Kirk looked at Obama in disbelief. "Boys like me? Beating in the gutters? That was a very nice speech Mr. Obama, but it's quite ineffective. I assure you that this is the first time I've ever been called a small Midwestern boy, and I certainly hope it's the last. I know you didn't mean any harm, but you must remember that much has changed. Don't forget it- I've seen corners of the galaxy with creatures you couldn't even dream of- I've been through Hell and back. So don't try to fool me- you cannot, and will not, buy my vote."

Obama was outraged- this was the president of the United States he was talking to!

"I hope you can reconsider this rash decision-"

Kirk was polite but firm. "No thank you, Mr. President. If you don't mind, I'd just like some time to think."

Obama took this as a discreet way of saying _shut up_. Indignant, he got to his feet, calmly walking away, but not before he could yell, "Good luck with Romney as your leader, then!"

Kirk's head snapped up once more, "Romney, leader, what? There won't be any election, despite your counting on it."

"There may not be, but that won't stop Romney from campaigning. And I warn you, he won't be as polite as I was!"

Obama started off down one of the many paths leading away from the table.

"33."

Obama turned one final time, "33 what?"

"33 years. If that's what you consider a boy, I wonder what you consider a man."

At this, Obama spun on his heel, speed-walking down one of the unknown paths. He knew Kirk hadn't meant to be rude- after all, Obama had been the one to make the mistake of calling him a "boy." _Still_, he though_, he could've been better about the whole election business. He'll rue the day Romney-_

But he stopped there, not wanting to think grisly thoughts.

His therapist (don't tell the press!) had told him that, in order to be the best leader he could possibly be, he needed to face his fears. Yet the moment that one awful thought came into his head, he pushed it as far away as he could.

He was a coward- he could not imagine the shame, the hatred, the never-ending sentence of failure he would be forced to live with for the rest of his life, if this nightmare was turned to reality.

The dream he had once had would be turned into one never-ending Hell.

Once, about two weeks ago, he'd let the thought travel farther into his mind than ever before. He'd been sitting alone in the Oval office, after a new survey had come in about the possible election results, and he'd had a terrible day.

He thought he'd hit rock-bottom, and saw no way out.

But death would bring even more shame.

He remembered what the therapist had told him. He had decided to give it a try.

But he was unprepared for the tsunami of anxiety that soon hit him after he let the possibility cross his mind.

_What if-_ his knees buckled and he collapsed to the floor, desperately trying to grasp the mahogany desk with his scabbed fingertips. He lay on the rug, head on the newly-cleaned carpet, gasping for air.

_Pull yourself together, Goddammit! You're the damned president of this country-_

Tears began to stream down his face- as he sobbed, a grown man, he finally got a glimpse of what utter failure would feel like. He now understood what those who were laid off felt like, or those evicted from their houses.

He now knew that it wasn't the house that mattered, or even the status that came with the house that mattered to those previous owners- in those last months, when you knew the sheriff would knock on your door any day, all that mattered was avoiding the failure that came with being booted out. At the end of the day, the only thing that mattered was pride.

The Secret Service men had already come into the office, lifting him off the floor.

He told them he'd just been killing a spider, that was all.

And, surprisingly, they believed him. And neither Michelle nor the girls nor anyone in the whole world ever heard about the incident.

Here he sat, in the sand on some strange path on some island, stuck with the Devil himself.

He got up and continued on the path.

He wouldn't face his fears, at least not now.

Obama smiled- he'd been doing much better than he had this morning. He had seemed to earn the respect of the big one called "Skipper," along with rallying support against Romney by helping out Mrs. Howell with chores this afternoon.

Mr. Howell had just walked in the "door," and Obama didn't know what to expect.

"Lovey, darling, how nice! You've finally gotten us a butler!"

"Now look, Mr. Howell, I'm no butler! I was just-"

"Yes, darling, Mr. Obama here was nice enough to volunteer for the position."

"No-"

"Shh! Now how about a maid?"

"Howell, listen here, I will not listen to this, I'm not a-"

"I was thinking that one who wears-"

"Ooh yes! She'll be perfect!"

"Is this because I'm black-"

"Oh dear, Lovey, I just remembered! I promised the girls that I'd send help for them cooking dinner."

"You know, hiring me because I'm black is a very racist and wrong-"

Finally Mr. Howell turned to Obama, "This is the sixties. It's perfectly fine!"

"Look, we hired you since you were the ONLY one on this island who has ever tried to help me and hasn't refused the position right away. Along with that other-"

"Yes, but-"

"Now Mr. Obama, it's okay if you don't have much experience. As long as you're better than Gilligan- although even a monkey would probably be better- you'll do just fine. It's an easy job, really! It's only 4 days a week, and those are only 5 hour days!"

Obama sighed, he'd probably be better off humoring them for now and settling this later.

"Mr. Howell, Mrs. Howell, where should I start?"

Mr. Howell pat him on the back, "That-a-boy! Just follow us..."

And that was how he'd ended up toiling over the open fire in the "kitchen," alongside three girls he'd never met before.

Of course, two of them had left, leaving him and one of Kirk's crew members alone, washing the black mess of ashes off the stones in the fire pit.

She'd been friendly, introducing herself as Nyota Uhura.

She didn't have much experience cooking, and they'd been the two lucky ones stuck on cleaning duty.

Either because they were new. Or because they were black.

He assumed the second.

"Ms. Uhura, do you see what they're doing to us here?"

She looked up, her face smudged with soot, "Making us clean this?"

"No. Can you not see how these people so blatantly tread on the feet of our enslaved ancestors, slapping the chains on our wrists once again by making us clean this fire pit?"

She wiped her forehead, spreading the soot out even more. "Enslaved ancestors, chains, I'm not sure I understand."

Obama's eyes practically popped out of his head, "Slavery? The Civil War?"

Uhura began to chuckle, "Sir, I think there might've been a misunderstanding. I remember learning about your country's Civil War and history, but that's not where I'm from. I'm from the United States of Africa."

"Oh. My mistake."

They cleaned in awkward silence for a few minutes, when Obama decided to speak up again.

"But can't you see how blatantly racist these people are?"

"This might be hard to understand, but racism is extremely uncommon in the world I'm from."

"So you've never felt oppressed?"

"Haven't we ALL felt oppressed at sometime in our life? I certainly have, but not because of racism or hate. It's a natural feeling."

Obama shook his head. "You're lucky," he said in a defeated voice.

Sensing his disappointment in being wrong, Uhura quickly added, "But it's not like they're the most accepting people either. Especially the Howells. But it's not only to us- they called Scotty a drunkard and only the Professor and Skipper can stand to be in the same room as Chekov."

She was right, of course.

"Then why are we the ones cleaning up?"

"Perhaps because Christine is barely alive, Spock, Sulu, McCoy, and your friend are tending to her, the hosts and hostesses have cooked dinner and provided us with a place to stay, Chekov is hiding in the woods somewhere along with the Captain, no one wants to upset Romney, Romney's girls are too busy massaging him, Scotty apparently suffered some sort of traumatic experience today, and since I volunteered-"

"You volunteered?"

"Yes. And so did you, in a way."

"When?"

"When you helped out the Howells. I think it's been a long time since someone's been that nice to them."

"As the president, I try to do all I can."

This got another laugh out of Uhura. "It's almost like you're campaigning or something!"

Obama chuckled- if only she knew.


End file.
